Hope is for the Hopeless
by DCFanatic4life
Summary: He wasn't the first one she followed, or the second, and hope was running out for Chris Jericho. One-shot. *co-written with StephanieIrvine*


**Disclaimer: We do not own the characters or the real people in this story. The characters belong to the WWE, and the real people belong to themselves. There's some swearing, but it's mild, nothing to be alarmed about, read at your free will.**

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****A/N: So, if you haven't heard, Stephanie McMahon is on Twitter. Now, she's already following Chris Jericho, which is all well and good, but he hasn't followed her yet. So...Jodi (StephanieIrvine) and I were talking about how cool it will be when he follows her, but in the midst of that, this came out. We both liked the way it turned out, so we decided to post it, and here it is.

So we hope you enjoy this story, and we'd love your reviews, and we're both adults, if you want to be brutal, go right ahead. :)

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He wished she'd followed him first, it would have given him hope somehow, but she didn't.

He was a name in jumble of her followers. And maybe that's why he hadn't followed back. He didn't want her to be just a name to him, not unless it was his own name she took. But that would never happen, not now. Not ever.

He saw her first tweet, "honey," it said, the word burning in his brain. She'd called him "sweetheart" before, a play on how he called her sweetcheeks when they had their feuds together. He liked it, the pet name, but this was not to him, this was to her husband, the man who, unbeknownst to him, had won her in every way. Chris was relegated to the periphery, where he watched, waiting, hoping, but never getting what he really wanted. So he couldn't follow her, not when there was a "honey" that wasn't him, not when there was a man who made her smile when he couldn't even look her in the eye. It was better this way. His heart hurt less this way or so he told himself.

He'd become quite good at lying over the years it seemed. He just thought that maybe he could escape her on Twitter, but then there was Paul and he knew, he saw it coming, and he was powerless to stop the 'Stephanie McMahon' is now following you from invading his sight. But if he were an honest man, he never escaped Stephanie on twitter for a long time before she ever joined. There were always hopeful people asking him when they were both going to work with each other again, telling him they had such great chemistry, wondering why he stared at her a second too long. He glossed over those mentions to him (especially the ones that hit too close at home) because how could he tell them that they couldn't work together anymore because he could take another slip, that he couldn't handle what it would do to his heart.

And there were always slips. For years, there had been slips, and every time they happened he got his hopes up. It didn't matter that she'd told him years ago that they couldn't be together, not like that, not like how he wanted. It didn't matter that he'd thought his heart had iced over when it came to her. He always slipped right into old patterns, slipping right into her arms. That wasn't the problem though, the problem was when she would slip from his.

His hopes would last only a few hours, the hours he got to hold her, and in those hours, he always planned a future with her, and with each slip, the hopes changed. The first one, he'd pictured himself divorcing Jessica and Stephanie dumping Paul, a small wedding, and a host of children with blonde hair and gray eyes. As the years passed they changed: _she'll divorce Paul, I'll divorce Jessica, Ash can live with us _to _she'll divorce Paul, I'll divorce Jessica, Ash, Aurora and the twins can live with us_ then _I separated from my wife, the divorce papers are all ready to be filed, we can still have a couple kids of our own. _

But now it was: _I just want to be able to hold her hand in public.  
_  
The divorce had come and gone, and yet the only hand Stephanie held in public was Paul's and his hope finally changed to: _I hope I don't see her today. _ And it worked for a while and he was slowly moving on, but then there was a phone call and she was asking him to come back, not to her, no, never her, but to the company. It needed him (she never did). It wanted him back (she only ever did briefly). He tried to resist (her) but he never could. So he'd said yes and come back, but the hope that usually flared at the possibility of seeing her, it wasn't even a whimper; it was like she had killed it, left it dead like she'd left his heart when he felt foolish enough not to realize it needed protection.

The night before the Royal Rumble, for the first time in a long time, he got black out drunk. He passed out in his hotel room, letting the dark tendrils of blackness consume him. But she haunted him like she did every night. Her wispy visage assaulted his dreams until he shot up from his bed that morning, thinking she was whispering his name. But it was his hotel room, empty, that greeted him, and he had a long drive to Phoenix ahead of him. A long drive that let him think about how every mile brought him closer to her, and yet how far away they actually were from each other.

At work he could avoid her, at the very least he could make sure she was far away from him, but on Twitter, with her following him, his words suddenly became stilted, and he wasn't even sure why. He never spoke her name, ignored every question about her (save for one when he let himself give in just the tiniest bit, but he didn't tweet it to everyone), and never acknowledged she existed, and yet, now, knowing that his every word would catch her eye, he felt trapped in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt like she was scrutinizing him, reminding herself with each of his words why he would never be her choice.

But then he had to laugh to himself, at least he could follow someone and it wouldn't take him as long as 3 days to figure out how. And yet, he still hasn't followed her. He wouldn't. He told himself he'd be strong and not fall for her again. He was so sick of falling, all it did was hurt him, and Stephanie never seemed to look behind her and see him trip or offer to help him to his feet. She just kept walking, and he tried to scurry to his feet and give chase, but she was always one step ahead and every time he reached out his hand was reaching for dead air. He'd long since given up the thought that his future was her and maybe when she saw the days pass and saw that he hasn't followed her back she would get it, she'd get that it wasn't just a awkward miscommunication, and instead, she would see that he was moving on. Maybe, just maybe, he could make her hope die like she had his.

Or maybe, just when he'd given up, she would come up to him, pouting, her bottom lip jutting out as she turned her big, gray eyes towards him and ask, "Why aren't you following me?" and he would stare at her for a long second, and it would all come spilling out, every hurt every moment where she made him feel like nothing. And maybe on that day, he would tell her that every warm feeling he had for her was now gone, and he would turn on his heel and he would walk away, finally free from her.

Maybe that day was coming, and on that day he could finally say that Stephanie McMahon was out of his system, that twelve years was long enough spent pining after her, and that he could not do it anymore. That the slip was not going to happen, that he had gained his footing, and he no longer needed her to stand. He didn't know if he had the strength, but he hoped on that day, he could tell her that it was over, that it was never coming back, that their love had truly died.

He was still in Australia, when he got the text. _This 'old school' raw makes me miss you. Us. Stephy xx. _ And he was angry, he was _so_ angry. _How dare she! I've never went anywhere Stephanie. But I have to ask, how can you miss something you Never wanted?_

And of course, of course it was radio silent after that, even now she had no reply, but he had a fire that glowed now and it just wanted to burn, so he let it out. _I would have given up _everything_ for you, you know this. Fuck, Steph, I divorced my wife and you still climb into bed with another man. I don't think you could beat my heart to death more than it already is. And now when everything was starting to get that _little_ bit better you think you can just come along with a simple 'I miss you' and think I'll fall to my knees and come crawling back? No, I'm sorry, I'll always love you, but I'm not your toy to use anymore. It's over, I can't do this anymore. I don't want you._

And God it killed him to write those words, but the weight that was pushing him down lifted, and he felt his heart beat again. Maybe it wasn't the beat he was used to, no it used to beat in sync with Stephanie's, so you'd have to excuse him if he felt a little erratic right now, but his blood was giving him life again, and he thought maybe this wouldn't be so hard anymore, maybe he could survive this. Maybe he had a new heart that would beat for someone else, someone who would reach out and take his hand so that he wasn't reaching for dead air.

And he couldn't help but think it would serve her right to see him with someone else. His mind, oh how vengeful it suddenly became, conjured up images of his hand in some other woman's, someone free to love him, and Stephanie's eyes resting on their joined hands with the same pain he knew was etched on his for years. He almost wanted it as much as he had wanted her love. His heart crusted over with revenge and spite, and this was its new feeling towards her. This was how it felt towards Stephanie McMahon.

Gone were romantic notions, now all he has was stifling regret and the knowledge that he was better off without her. Her fickleness and indecision, they were her faults, faults that he had ignored in lieu of his lingering love. She was petty, she could be mean, she could hurt you with one look, she held grudges; she was not a perfect person. Now, with his love replaced, he saw her for what she really was. She strung him along for years with no intention of ever being with him. While he hoped, she got to keep her prize and get a reward on the side.

She was playing two men. She might have chosen Paul, but he didn't get any more of her than Chris himself, not when she was sleeping with both of them. She gave hope to them both, and she was crushing them both. Screw her, screw her and everything about her. When he saw her, in just a few days times, he would walk past her, not sparing her a glance, and he would hold his chin high. The girl could come later, and oh would she come, but for now, he would bask in the knowledge that he had tried and tried, and it was not his fault. He would revel in the fact that he was free. Stephanie McMahon's spell was done, the curse was broken. She was nothing to him.

She would be nothing but a footnote in his history, his past. She may have made him the Chris Jericho the WWE knew and loved, but she also reduced him to the Chris Irvine he so brokenly tried to put together. And he was put together now, and maybe the pieces were rough and there were still some cracks, but he was solid and that meant something to him. He could take a step forward and not shatter. He could look at her and not ache. He thought of her and instead of a fluttering he felt a sneer. Oh, how the tides had turned. This change it wasn't altogether a good change, there was a tint of darkness behind it, but in time that would color and with that thought, he couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. It was fleeting and barely a real smile, but it was a change and that was all he needed.

He walked into the SmackDown tapings the next week with a swagger he hadn't had since his first run as Y2J. He had smiles for everyone and a wink for some of the women hanging around. It was time to turn over a new leaf. He was Chris fucking Irvine, and it was time to enjoy his life. He was unattached and not pining over a woman he couldn't have. The world was open to him, and he wanted to enjoy it for once. He was getting too old for Stephanie's games, and the world-at-large had to be simpler than the complications of loving Stephanie McMahon.

He grabbed a schedule and saw he was going to have a match against Del Rio. Great, a good wrestler meant a good match; things were looking up. He walked to his dressing room, and for the first time in 12 years, he did not look at every door to hopefully spot her name. He didn't look down every corridor to get a peek of her, and it felt good. He swung the door open to his dressing room, and he didn't hope to see her sitting there like he had so many times before. And she wasn't. Typical. Not like he'd expected her. "Selfish to the end, Steph," he muttered to himself, dropping his bag on the ground.

It was so like her to turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. The girl avoided it like the plague. No matter, she was not of his concern. And no, there was not a sliver of worry that he hadn't heard from her in days. And his brain did not remind him that he did take a peek at some doors and that he didn't see her name. And he took no note of how every corridor was empty of her presence. He was moving on. He was done. He was over her. But was she even here? Why didn't he feel her presence? No, no, no, it was only because it was a show; he could not let himself crumble, not when his resolve was so high. And so he didn't. He went about his business and he didn't care.

He did not care.

Until he finally did see her.

On the arm of her husband.

Smiling.

He had to take a moment and remind himself to breathe. In and out. In. And. Out. But the war inside him, it was raging, the half that wanted her pit against the anger she caused him fighting constantly. And God he was jut so tired of all this. He caught her eye and she smirked at him. She _smirked_. She thought this was a game, did she not understand that this was his life? He kept her gaze and her smirk grew. _I win,_ it said to him, taunted him.

His shoulders sagged. She had won, she always would. And the pain he felt admitting that surged through him, and he had to close his eyes and clench his fists. When he opened them he bowed his head in defeat, in resignation, in weariness? He did not know, but he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her behind, missing the smirk that fell from her face as she _finally _ saw the pain she caused him. He missed the way she ripped her hand away from Paul. He missed the step she took after him. He missed it all like he missed her.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket and started dialing. "Vince, it's Chris Irvine, look, we need to talk."

"What about, Chris?"

"I don't think I can stay past 'Mania. I know I was supposed to work dates after I went to the UK, but I don't think I can do it I think I think it's time for me to retire," Chris said, and his tone belayed every single one of his 42 years. For the first time ever, he felt his age.

"Chris, are you sure?" Vince sounded shock, and it probably was a shock to the older man. Chris had told him, everyone really, that he was having the best time of his life right now, that he was in the best shape of his life. So to turn on a dime was probably the last thing Vince expected, but it wasn't like Chris could tell him the root of all his problems, not when that problem was this man's daughter.

He took a deep breath, and he answered, "Yeah, I'm sure. It's not fun anymore Vince, it's just not fun."

It was not fun seeing something he could never have. It was not fun thinking about how she had just smirked at him like his feelings never meant a damn thing to her. It was not fun pretending like he could ever move on while watching her smugly act like she had used him as a toy.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Chris."

"I'm sorry too, Vince. I just want you to write me out after 'Mania. Something quiet. I don't need the fanfare of an HBK or anything like that. I just want to quietly go, if that's okay with you."

He remembered a poem he read once in college, "Do not go gentle into that good night," but that's how it was going to be. She'd crushed him under her shoe and now it was time to slink away. He would go gently.

"Yes, Chris, that's fine with me, if that's what you want."

"It's what I want," he reiterated.

"And you're sure there's no changing your mind?"

He thought back to Stephanie's arm wrapped tightly around Paul's. He thought back to her smile, her laugh, her head thrown back as she did both. He thought about her smirk, meant for him, as malicious as could be. And he felt those things in every one of his bones that suddenly creaked under the weight of this world.

"Yes, Vince, I'm sure," he breathed. He closed his eyes. It was over, this was all over. The dream he'd come into this company with, the nightmare that it ended up being, it was all over. In the middle there was some beauty, laughs, love, but in the end, he was left with regrets and that was it.

Until a voice behind him whispered brokenly, "Please don't go."

"Stop it!" He almost exploded as he turned to face her because of course it was her. "Just stop it Stephanie!" And her face it looked broken but he knew what a good actress she was and he knew this was nothing but an act. "I'm done okay. I'm done with this company, this business, and Stephanie, I am so done with you."

She reached for him then and he took a step back. "I'm sorry," she whimpered.

"Go back to Paul and let him fall for your lies because I can't do it anymore. You've ruined me. Do you not see how broken I am?" She reached for him again. "Don't touch me!" he snarled. "You're toxic! You'll just pretend you care like all those other times and you'll let me fall again, let me hold you, let me hope! And for what, Steph? So you can break me? Well you can't anymore, okay? I'm already dust and one more blow will end me. So I have to go, I have to leave. I have to leave you because you'll never be mine, I know that now. I saw it. I saw you with him and maybe you're not completely happy with him, but he makes you smile more than I ever have, why else would you stay with him? I get it, I was a distraction, but you always made your way back home, and I'm not home."

He let it all out and breathed out and looked at her, took in the unshed tears in her eyes and it was just an act so he didn't care anymore. "So go find someone else or maybe, go be happy with Paul. He doesn't deserve all this toying you do. And you know something? Neither do I. I love you, but please leave me alone."

"You're right. About everything," Stephanie said, one tear escaping, but she brushed it away angrily before it found its way past her cheek. "I did toy with you both, I did, for years. And I'm not proud of it. When I was 16, one of my father's wrestlers tried to…suffice it to say he didn't, but I felt trapped in those few minutes, and I felt helpless. I never wanted to feel that way again, and so I just decided to control every aspect of my life, and you were an aspect of it. It's not an excuse, just an explanation. I won't try to tell you how much I love you, even though I do because I know you. You think I didn't notice the little things, but I did, except I was a bitch who pushed them aside, but I looked Chris, I looked, and I saw you. You're hurt, you're pissed, and you really have given up, and I deserve that. I know you think I'm acting. I know your skeptical look because you would wear it every morning when I woke up and I didn't get it for a long time. I always thought the skeptical look was that you ever had me in the first place, but now I know that it was your hope shining through. It was the hope that one morning I would say something different, I would act differently, and you would finally get me. But I never did that, did I? I never deviated from our script because I had to always be in control of every situation."

She laughed, the kind of laugh where you are skin and bones and muscles and tissue but soulless. It was the kind of laugh that only comes when you've lost everything and you are standing there, facing nothingness of your own creation. "When I tell Paul I've been having an affair the entire time we've been dating, he will not take me back. I know that. I stand here, a broken, damaged woman who took silly pride in controlling the love of two men. I don't deserve you, Chris. I don't deserve your goodness, your kind heart, your sense of humor, your love of life. I don't deserve it. And this isn't me acting. This is me, just me. So what I want for you, right now, is to turn around, walk away, and do whatever makes you happy. Don't look back. Just go."

"Why do you never ask me to stay?" Chris wondered helplessly. "You say you love me, that you always have, but look at you telling me to go. If you really loved me, you'd fight for me. Fight like I did for you for so long, Stephanie, but you're here just telling me to go. If you loved me like I do you, beg me to stay. Do you remember how many times I begged you, pleaded with you to not leave me only to have you walk back to him? I tried, I fought and yeah I gave up. But look at you, look at how you're giving up now. You don't love me. You love the idea of me." With a shake of his head, he did turn and leave. He put one foot in front of the other and left her behind.

"Stay!" she pleaded behind him, hurrying after him. She grabbed onto his arm pulling him around to face her. "Stay! Not for the company, not for the fans, stay for me because I'm begging you, because I love you, because I've missed you so much. Stay. I can end it with Paul, stay so I can hold your hand. Stay because you give me hope. Stay for me. So we can rewrite our ending. Please Chris, stay?"

There was a moment where he didn't want to give in. There was a long moment where he wanted to tear her down, piece by piece, leave her shattered into a million pieces. He wanted it so badly he could practically taste the words on his tongue, bold and biting, but then…this was Stephanie. It was her face he had to look into, and her heart that she was holding out for him. It was her face he had to look into, and her heart that she was holding out for him. And when it was her, the rules always changed.

"Stephanie," his voice was still tired, still filled with the weariness of a much older man.

"I don't know what you want from me, Chris. I don't know the words to say to make this right or easy. You told me let you go, so I tried, you tell me to fight for you to stay, so I'm trying that. I don't know how I can make this right."

And again, for a moment, he wants to tell her that nothing can make this right, that things have been too wrong for too long, and they can't make it back. But there's her heart again, and as he looks at it, he cannot crush it. Stephanie has, on a number of occasions, taken his heart, held it in her hand and squeezed until it crushed, but he could not do that to her heart, that fragile butterfly beat that he knew as well as his own.

"There's nothing you can say to make it easy," Chris told her and her face fell, "but easy has never been what we're about. We've always been messy and complicated, and a jumble of emotions that we never sorted out. I lost a lot of trust in you, but I can get it back. First though, we have to make changes. It has to change. No more of this," he waved his arms around. "We come clean and suffer the consequences."

She nodded eagerly, "I'll do whatever you want me to do."

"That's just it, Stephanie, I don't want you to do what _I_ want you to do, I want you to want all of this for yourself. I'm not forcing you to love me or to be with me, I want you to be with me for you." She nodded again. "Strength and courage, Steph, that's how I got through it with you, strength and courage."

She muttered the words to herself a mantra of sorts before she looked back up at him, "I want to divorce Paul. I want to be with you. I want you to wrestle and I want you to sing. And I want you to host a weird show about huge robots. And I want to love you the way you love me. And I want a future and I want a spotted and ugly past. And I want our children to get along. And I want more children. And I want a ring on my finger And I want a wedding that's not too big, and just a little too small. And I want a house, huge. And I want a lifetime. And I want eternity after that. Is that okay with you?"

Chris smiled at her and nodded so hard his head might have fallen off if not for his neck "Yeah, yeah, I really, really want all of that too." And his heart, that beat that was so different just a few days ago, found its rhythm once again. And the weight of the world that he thought had been lifted, no, it hadn't been, but now, now he could float for all he cared.

"Chris?" Stephanie told him.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Can you kiss me? I want a kiss too." He nodded again and leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. She pulled away first, "Chris? One more thing."

"What's that?" Chris whispered. Stephanie laughed and looked down at Chris's hand.

"My dad is still on the phone and I think we have a lot of explaining to do."


End file.
